


you are my angel baby, with wings of gold

by titaniaeli



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Discrimination, Gen, Inspired by Maximum Ride, Original Character(s), Protective Gale Hawthorne, Sibling Love, Wing Mutilation, i honestly have no idea how i come up with all these stuffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniaeli/pseuds/titaniaeli
Summary: Nobody knows how the Winged People came to be, but only certain humans manifested the special genes. The Hawthornes was one of the rare families who birthed a Winged child every generation. As a child, Gale had to incise his wings to protect himself from the Capitol. When his sister started to manifest wings years later, he swore that he would do anything to protect her.





	1. Chapter 1

_The existence of Winged People in Panem was a taboo. Nobody knows how this species came to be, but they have existed since the beginning of time. They have appeared in history books spanning centuries back, and they were classified as a subspecies below homo sapiens._

_But one ordinary man, who, as a child had watched the Winged People with envy and wonder, would one day grow up to become the future dictator of Panem, had known differently. Before he even started manipulating power and killing his allies, he knew that these Winged People have the strength to take control._

_They were stronger and faster than normal humans, with wings reflecting the avian genes in their genetic makeup. They possessed the ability to overthrow him in his quest for power._

_So, as President, his first act was to wipe out the existence of the Winged People. He hunted them to near extinction, relentless in his mission to consolidate his position._

_The mere thought of any child manifesting the Winged gene was met with despair and terror. Most who were discovered were immediately brought to the Capitol to be executed. There was no mercy even for a child. Those caught harbouring a Winged was severely punished._

_People named the era the Cold Days, a long period of seventy-five years after the First Rebellion, where the twelve Districts simmered in despair and fear under the tyrannical Capitol. But not everyone was content to remain silent on the oppression. District 13 remained alive, slowly rebuilding themselves after their destruction, burning with quiet rebellion and waiting for the right time to raise._

_One day, both humans and Winged People would work together again, just as they had once done before the Dark Days._

— Vick H.  _A Historical Account on the Winged People during the Cold Days_

* * *

There was nothing ten-year-old Gale Hawthorne loved more than his wings. They were four feet long when spread open, pale grey with slate black tips. They were strong and beautiful, and they have finally grown big enough to support his weight, not that he could try them out.

His wings first manifested when he turned four, little stumps on his back that moulted feathers every week. After his wings started to grow and take shape, his parents have bounded his wings with a specially-made binder. 

He hated that binder. It chaffed at his flesh and ripped out his blood feathers, but he was an obedient son. He never takes them off unless his parents said it was alright to. 

Every month, a strange man who his parents called Doctor Plover visited their home to do a body check up on him, inspecting the condition of his wings. 

His mother said that he was an expert on Winged, although Gale has never seen the doctor around before. But then again, Gale was only ten and he was never allowed to go anywhere without one of his parents supervising him. 

Doctor Plover was an Unwinged, his father said. An Unwinged was something his parents called a normal human, but he spent his entire life treating the Winged that he was practically an expert on them. 

Doctor Plover was old. Gale wasn't sure how old he was, since he has so many wrinkles, but other than his parents, he liked Doctor Plover. The man has kind eyes, and the instructions he gave on preening his wings were informative and simple to understand for a ten-year-old child.  

He was nearly eleven when he snuck out into the woods, evading his mother’s watchful eyes. It was a hard winter the previous year, and his parents have been working full time recently to make ends meet and stock up for the upcoming one this year.

He shucked off the binder, releasing a breath of relief as it unwound around his chest. He could still feel the soreness in the bones of his wings, and he spread them out to its full length. His tensed muscles groaned at the stretch, and it felt like he’s finally scratching an itch he couldn’t reach for so long.

He glanced around nervously, his ears twitching. Even for a Winged, his hearing has always been naturally sensitive. He has ventured quite far out into the woods, stopping under a canopy. If anyone gets too near, he will be able to pick up their approach.

He flapped his wings experimentally, warming up the muscles. Tucking in his elbows, he looked up with a deep breath. Excitement thrummed in his bones, his entire body almost vibrating as he waited to take off into the air.

With a mighty flap, the wings lifted him. For a second, he felt himself wobble, unused to the sensation, and then raptor instincts took over. He shot through the canopy, his wings brushing against the branches.

The wind rushed past his face, and the excitement in his chest bloomed until it felt like it was going to consume him whole. He has the sky in his palms, and he could touch the clouds if he desired to.

He let out a whoop of exhilaration, pure and unadulterated elation rushing through his veins. The wind drowned out his voice, and he closed his eyes briefly to focus all his other senses. Behind the wind, he could hear the sound of fauna in the woods, and beyond that, civilization. His raptor instincts took him further from the sound of humans.

_So, this was what flying feels like! What utter, complete joy!_

He had to stop on a tree, his lips stretched into a wide grin, and then he flew off again. He swooped down as he glimpsed movement under the shine of the sunlight, snatching the squirrel from its perch.

Laughing, he gently placed the struggling animal down on the ground, watching it scampered off in fright. He only felt a little bad for terrorizing the fauna, before the feverish triumph swept him away into the air once more.

He couldn’t tell how long he has been flying, only that he had to stop several times to catch his breath. The sky was turning orange when he took his last lunge into the air. He was so focused on the glow of fire streaking across the sky that he didn’t notice the object in his way until it clipped his left wing. It sent him spiralling downwards in shock, his barely grown wings still not strong enough to withstand the impact.

Fortunately, he was not flying too high when he fell, and the branches caught his descent as he fell into a shrub. He immediately started to flail, his wings getting caught in the tangles. With some difficulty and a beat of his wings, he tumbled out. He spat out leaves stuck in his mouth, and brushed twigs off his clothes. He barely felt the sting of cuts on his arms, but his left wing hurts. He tried to stifle the tears in his eyes, running his fingers through the plumage. The wing was still not large enough to curve over his shoulder, but he could still reach back and felt for the pained spot.

No broken bone, thankfully, but it felt sore. Hopefully just a bruise.

He tried to stand up, and that’s when he smelled smoke. Uneasily, he staggered towards the smell, until he came upon the smoking metal object on the ground.

He crouched down to study the object that he had collided into. It seemed to be some sort of gadget with four pairs of propellers. At first, he couldn’t recognize the gadget, but the propellers must be how it was able to fly.

Then he noticed the broken lens. He recoiled, just as the gadget choked out a small plume of black smoke and shocked out.

Without stopping to take a second glance, he ran off until the gadget was not in sight, before he soared to the sky again.

_A drone! A drone from the Capitol!_

He has heard of patrolling drones around District 12, although he has never seen any while he was in the woods with his father.

He didn’t stop to find his binder, tucking his wings under his shirt and jacket before he ducked under the fence. His back looked bulky without the binder pinning his wings down, but the sky was already dark and no one was around.

He crashed into his house, and nearly collided right into his mother.

“Gale!” She shouted, her eyes widening as he nearly collapsed onto the ground. “Tobias, he’s back!”

The adrenaline was starting to wither off, replaced by a mounting terror and panic.

“Where’s your binder, Gale?” Hazelle demanded, her face pale.

Tobias appeared at the doorway, his dark hair dishevelled.

“Where did you go, Gale?” His father asked urgently.

Not a child prone to emotional outbursts since he was a toddler, his parents were understandably even more alarmed when he started crying in response.

“I’m sorry, Pa.” He sobbed, stuttering his apologies.

“Did you go flying in the woods?” Tobias asked, his expression sinking with dread.

He nodded meekly, not daring to look at his parents’ faces. He missed their fearful exchange of looks over his head.

There was a sudden bang on their front door. Hazelle tensed up immediately, gathering her son in her arms. Tobias tried to reach for his hidden crossbow, but a voice rang out outside.

“Tobias? Tobias, are you in there?” A male voice hissed.

Hazelle’s grip on his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“What are you doing here, Aspen?” Tobias said sharply, glaring at the man standing outside.

Uncle Aspen, as Gale always called him, was their neighbour. His son, Thom, was the same age as Gale, and they occasionally played together.

“Is Gale here?” Aspen asked, ignoring Tobias’s question.

He hid behind his mother’s skirts, trying to hunch his shoulders, as if it would hide his wings.

“What’s going on?” Hazelle demanded.

Aspen glanced at her, noticed Gale hiding behind her and his face immediately whitened.

“Gods, so it’s true.” He growled. “Tobias, you need to Cut him now. The Peacekeepers are gathering at the Justice Building. There’s something going on.”

“What did the Mayor say?” Tobias frowned.

“Sae has a friend working in the Justice Building. She told me this: a Winged was caught on one of the drones in the woods.” Aspen said, glancing at Gale. “The drone was too badly damaged to retrieve the footage, but the Capitol  _knows_.”

“We need time.” Hazelle said frantically. “And Doctor Plover—”

“Doctor Plover will need another hour before he can reach here.” Tobias interrupted. “And someone needs to go and fetch him here. We don’t have the time.”

“How long do you need?” Aspen said calmly.

“The whole incision will take at least an hour.” Tobias said shakily. “Doctor Plover taught me the procedure, but—”

“They can’t find him.” Hazelle interjected, her gaze grave and determined. “Tobias, you need to do the incision now.”

The three adults turned and stared at Gale, who sniffed and trembled.

“He’s too young.” Tobias said, heartbroken.

“He’s old enough.” Aspen said sombrely. “I will try to stall the Peacekeepers for as long as I could before they start the search.”

“We’re counting on you.” Hazelle nodded, wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

The moment the door shut behind Aspen, she quickly bolted the locks, shoving a chair under the knob. She was relieved that her two younger sons were at a friend’s house at the moment. She had dropped off Rory and Vick at her friend’s house when she discovered Gale had slipped away under her nose. Oh, if only she had been more attentive!

“What’s going on?” Gale asked in fear.

“I’m so sorry, son.” Tobias whispered, carrying him towards the kitchen. “We have to Cut your wings now.”

“No!” He shrieked, shaking his head fiercely. “No, you can’t do that!”

His protests and pleas went unheard, and as he was gently placed on the kitchen table, he was sobbing hard enough to shake his entire body.

“Get me the kit, Hazelle.” Tobias ordered. When he turned to look at his son, his eyes were soft and full of regret. “I’m really, really sorry, Gale. I have to protect you. If they find you, they will take you to the Capitol and execute you. I can’t let that happen.” He stroked the crying boy’s hair, steeling his heart for the task ahead. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Gale.”

Hazelle came back, laying out the kit on the table and coaxing Gale to eat the crushed willow bark and passionflower paste.

“We don’t have morphlings.” Hazelle swallowed anxiously. Morphlings were expensive, and only the Mayor’s family was rich enough to possess them. And they hadn’t expected the Cutting to be this soon. “It’s going to hurt a lot for Gale.”

They both froze as shouting drifted into the house. After several seconds, the noises seemed to be increasing, but fading into the distance. They do not know what Aspen had done to buy time, but they weren’t going to waste it.

“I’m sorry, Gale.” Hazelle whispered, kissing her son’s forehead. Her eyes welled up with tears as they prepared for the incision. She could only hope that Gale would forgive them once it’s over.


	2. Chapter 2

**8 years later**

 

“Don’t you have anything cheaper?” Gale asked, studying the collection of herbs on the mat.

Ever since the arrival of Romulus Thread and his batch of new Peacekeepers in District 12, the fence has been repaired and electrified, making trips into the woods impossible now. He doesn’t know what happened to former Head Peacekeeper Cray: Thread had just appeared one day, declaring that he’s the new Head Peacekeeper from now on.

If Thom and Bristel hadn’t warned him, he might have knocked on Cray’s door to sell his usual turkeys and be dragged away to be flogged.

“It’s as cheap as I can offer, kid.” Old Willow grunted. “You know Thread has been running inspections on the Hob every day.”

He usually doesn’t like people calling him ‘kid’, but Old Willow was an exception. She was one of the oldest women in District 12. She’s probably older than Greasy Sae.

“Fine,” he hissed, exhaling in frustration. “I need powdered licorice root and cinnamon bark.”

He handed the leftover money that he had gained from trading squirrels to Old Willow. Money that he should be using on food for the next week, but unfortunately Posy had fallen sick with measles. Medicine was too expensive, and they had to treat Posy’s illness with natural remedies. If her illness doesn’t improve, he might be desperate enough to go to Katniss for help, no matter how much he despised the charity.

Suddenly, a series of bells started ringing.

“The Peacekeepers are here!” Someone yelled.

“Better get going before you’re caught, kid!” Old Willow said, packing up immediately.

He shoved the herbs into his hunting bag, slinging it over his head. He weaved his way through the chaos, making his way out of the Hob. From the outside, he could still hear the frantic shopkeepers packing up.

He quickly made his way home, not stopping for anything. The last thing he needed was for Thread and his Peacekeepers catching him near the Hob. 

“Gale!” Rory greeted. “How’s work?”

“Same as usual.” He muttered, trying to shut the door behind him. The door jammed at his first attempt, the hinges whining loudly. “Damn it!”

“Come on,” Rory snorted, pushing his older brother out of the way. “Let me.”

“How’s Posy?” He asked, fighting a yawn. He headed straight to the kitchen and started rifling through the cupboards.

“Still coughing.” Rory frowned, entering the kitchen. “Her fever subsides a little this morning.”

There was still half a jar of clean water on the counter. The flame spluttered slightly on the stove, but he managed to get the fire going after a few tries. He placed a pot on the stove, heating up the clean water.

“Is Ma still over at Haymitch’s?” He asked.

“She said she would be late.” Rory said. “Posy woke up an hour ago, and Vick has been entertaining her.”

He carefully unpacked the herbs, measuring the powdered licorice root. Just a pinch, mixed with the cinnamon bark. Prim advised not to give licorice root too much to a child, but if necessary, just enough for a small girl of Posy’s weight.

“Watch the fire.” He said, distracted. He shrugged his jacket off and went looking for his little siblings.

He found Vick reading a book to Posy, a small candle burning on the table next to him. They lost the electricity a few weeks ago, and even with their mother’s new housekeeping salary, it’s difficult getting back their electricity.

“Gale!” Posy noticed him first, her expression brightening.

Vick looked relieved as he closed the book. Only Gale and Hazelle were able to keep their hyperactive little sister distracted.

“Go help Rory with dinner.” He said, ruffling Vick’s hair.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he smiled, bending down to plant a kiss on Posy’s blotchy forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Itchy.” Posy grumbled, deflating morosely.

His chest ached at her dispirited look. He never wanted to be an older brother. Sometimes he even scorned that title. 

But that does not change the fact that he was an older brother, and he took his responsibility as one very seriously. He couldn’t deny that his siblings drove him crazy half of the time, but he loved them. They were his whole world, and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he ever loses any of them. 

“Come here, Posy.” He said, opening his arms. 

Without hesitation, Posy scampered into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He fondly ran his fingers down her tiny wings. They have only started to grow last winter, little tufts of feathers falling as her back grew swollen and itchy from the growth.

It had been horrible for both Hazelle and Gale when they realised that Posy was also a Winged. 

Luckily, they were still small enough to hide under her clothes. She hated the binder and would throw a temper tantrum whenever she was forced into it.

Hazelle was even more obsessively protective with Posy. Her eldest son’s incision had traumatised her, and the last thing she needed was to go through the same thing with her only daughter. 

It had been painful and traumatising for everyone involved. Tobias Hawthorne had harboured the guilt for years till his death. Hazelle wept whenever she sees the scars on his back.

He spent months relearning how to walk without the extra weight on his back, feeling like his body no longer belonged to him. The loss of his wings almost broke him. He had his taste of the sky and lost it. 

He would never allow Posy to go through the same thing as he did. He’d rather die than have Posy losing her wings. 

“It’ll be fine.” He whispered, running his fingers through the soft baby feathers. “You’re a brave kid. You’ve done so well so far.”

Posy sniffed sadly, peering up at him with huge grey eyes.

“Gale?” Rory knocked lightly on the door, holding a bowl of the herbal blend.

“No!” Posy wrinkled her nose in disgust, trying to scramble out of Gale’s arms.

“Come on, Posy,” Rory coaxed. “I add a little honey inside. You need to drink this to get well.”

“But it’s horrible!” She whined.

The two brothers exchanged exasperated grins. It’s no secret that all three Hawthorne boys have a tendency to baby their youngest and only sister.

“Tell you what,” Gale lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You finish this bowl, and I’ll give you two strawberries after dinner, alright?”

“ _Three?_ ” Posy bargained, blinking her eyes innocently. Her wings betrayed her excitement, fluttering madly and sending a slight breeze towards Rory, mussing his hair.

“Oh, fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Now drink it, Posy.”

Scrunching her nose in annoyance, she lifted the bowl clumsily.

“Careful,” Rory warned. “Don’t burn your tongue.”

Posy stuck out her tongue in revulsion, shoving the bowl at Rory. There were still leftover dredges at the bottom of the bowl, but they were already fortunate that Posy hadn’t kicked up a huge fuss.

“Dinner is ready!” Vick crowed, barging into the room. He paused briefly when he saw the three of them squeezed in the small bed.

Dinner was bread and apple jam, some chicken jerky and vegetable broth.

“Oh, looks good.” Gale grinned. He used to do the cooking, until he had to start work at the coal mines. After that, Rory and Vick insisted on taking over the cooking to lighten his burden, although Vick was the one who ended up cooking most of the time.

Rory doesn’t have the patience to cook and tended to burn the bread. And everything else.

Replacing the pot was expensive, and the last pot that Rory damaged had taken them a long time to scrap the bottom off the stove.

“What about Ma?” He asked.

“I left a plate for her on the table.” Vick muttered around a chicken jerky. “I hope she doesn’t stays out too late again.”

He didn’t reply, thinking of the filthy mess Haymitch’s house was in the last time he went to fetch his mother from her housekeeping job. There was nothing that could get him into that putrid house again.

“Gale,” Posy mumbled. “Can I see your wings again?”

His ‘wings’, ripped away by his own parents. If it had been anyone else but little Posy, he’d have break their jaw for even daring to ask such a thing. But Posy was convinced that they were wings—the hideous scars on his back. He didn’t have the heart to correct her, or the energy.

“Alright.” He sighed, ignoring his brothers’ concerned look. He scooped the soggy vegetable into his mouth quickly, and then pulled his shirt off.

Posy fidgeted in fascination, running her small fingers over the twin scars on his back. He shivered at the feathery touch.

“Do they still hurt?” Vick said quietly.

Rory was the only one old enough to remember his wings. The memory was vague, but he remembered the softness of his older brother’s wings cocooning him in comfort. Vick was too young to remember anything.

“No,” Gale murmured. “Just sensitive.”

It hadn’t been a perfect incision. The surgery had been sloppily done, but Gale had survived. He hated his parents for a while, but he understood why they have to do it. It still hurts, though, a reminder of what was once there. Sometimes he couldn’t even bear to look into the mirror without wanting to break his reflection.

He spent the next few weeks bedridden, feverish from an infection. It had taken Doctor Plover days before he could even approach the Hawthornes, wary of the patrolling Peacekeepers.

The raid had not gone well; dozens of innocent people injured because of his stupidity. Aspen had gathered a group of coal miners to delay the Peacekeepers, and the fervour had spread like wildfire across the district.

He doesn’t know what his parents have done with his wings. Burned them, perhaps. He’s just glad that he was already unconscious from the pain to know what they did with his wings. He never asked, nor did they tell him.

“Do you miss flying?” Posy whispered, her wings twitching.

He would never have allowed anyone to see him this vulnerable, and even blanketed in the comfort and warmth of his siblings, he felt the urge to cover himself up, the swell of disgust at himself threatening to overwhelm him.

But only here, only to them, does he allowed himself to be honest. 

“All the time.” He said softly.


End file.
